


In the darkening scenery, I play with the idea of falling

by junebugtwin



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Being Homura Is Suffering, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dissociation, F/F, Found Family, Friendship/Love, POV Akemi Homura, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, homura gets forcibly adopted by a very nice lady, homura is a good person!!, homura is not having a good time, i will not take any slander towards my child, she rarely does, very briefly implied sexual assault, who has no idea what the hell is going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junebugtwin/pseuds/junebugtwin
Summary: She should be inside, because otherwise she will get soaked- the bench she is sitting on does not provide her any shelter from the elements.Instead she watches her dark hair whip quietly in the wind out of the corner of her eye, the rest of Homura’s body completely still, perfectly composed, her hands settled politely on her lap.She is not impervious to the rain, to the cold, to the wind- she really should head inside.She should. But it doesn’t matter much. The storm isn’t real. The cold isn’t real. It may touch her, but it won’t change anything. This timeline is a failure. She knows how things will play out from here; she does not need to witness it again.So she will get wet, she will let the cold sink down to the marrow of her bones. When she wakes up, she will be warm and dry in her hospital bed.She is impervious to everything but death.And despair. An emotion she no longer fears. She’s not sure she could feel it if she tried.------Being Homura Is Suffering, and she is straight up not having a good time- that is until a awkward civilian takes notice of her, and deeply concerned for this poor little depressed child, attempts to adopt her.
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka, Miki Sayaka/Sakura Kyouko
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	In the darkening scenery, I play with the idea of falling

**Author's Note:**

> Beign Homura Is Suffering, but y'know what, being a Madoka Magica fan is also suffering. Especially if she's your favorite character and you just want good things for her. I feel that often, I struggle to find the exact type of fanfiction I'm looking for- one where all the bad shit Homura's gone through isn't erased or smoothed over, but she still gets her own happy ending. So I guess I'm going to have to write it myself. 
> 
> Please be warned there's a lot of dark themes here, death, blood/gore, depression, and suicidal thoughts- and a small mention of pedophilia that isn't explicit in any way shape or form, but I figured I should warn about anyway. Also, when Kyouko decides to show up she'll probably swear quite a bit, so be prepared for that.  
> Have fun reading and don't forget to comment if you liked it! :)

It’s raining again.

The sky is dark grey, the clouds sink, pressing on the air claustrophobically. There will be a storm twenty two minutes from now.

She should be inside, because otherwise she will get soaked- the bench she is sitting on does not provide her any shelter from the elements.

Instead she watches her dark hair whip quietly in the wind out of the corner of her eye, the rest of Homura’s body completely still, perfectly composed, her hands settled politely on her lap.

She is not impervious to the rain, to the cold, to the wind- she really should head inside.

She should. But it doesn’t matter much. The storm isn’t real. The cold isn’t real. It may touch her, but it won’t change anything. This timeline is a failure. She knows how things will play out from here; she does not need to witness it again.

So she will get wet, she will let the cold sink down to the marrow of her bones.

When she wakes up, she will be warm and dry in her hospital bed.

She is impervious to everything but death.

And despair. An emotion she no longer fears. She’s not sure she could feel it if she tried.

The wind had begun to really pick up, howling and screeching- not so un-similar to the desperate cries of a witch. Her fingers arm numb, her nose burns, her ears are pinched with pain.

Her body does not shiver. Perhaps there are somethings that can be trained out. Perhaps it recognizes the futility. Perhaps she is not cold.

Questions that mean nothing, curiosity that means nothing. She will figure it out eventually, she is in no rush.

Homura hears the approaching footsteps before the person speaks, and snaps her eyes open instantly- though she hadn’t been aware she’d closed them.

She immediately identifies them as not a threat- a somewhat plump, short, and brown haired civilian woman she has seen buy groceries before, or watering her plants. Her eyebrows are scrunched in anxiety. She’s wearing a thick brown coat and fluffy hat; even still, her arms are wrapped around her body in an attempt to ward off the chill.

“Hello? Kid?” She speaks, her voice raised to combat the loud shrieks of wind that threaten to overwhelm them both.

Homura turns her head to look at the woman straight on, giving her a respectful nod.

“Hello. What can I do for you ma’am?” She asks calmly, knowing the exact amount of pressure to add to her words for them to push through the rushing gale and reach the woman’s ears.

If anything, her question seems to confuse the woman further, and she tilts her head a bit, still looking stressed.

“Uh, I don’t- listen you’ve probably noticed, but things are getting a bit nasty around here- they say there’s gonna be a storm y’know?” She states, moving a few steps closer, her body hunched, one hand keeping her hair from getting in her mouth as she talks.

Homura nods, not bothering to do the same- her hair tangling wildly across her face and neck, never staying still for more than a moment. She hardly notices- ever since she lost her braids her hair has seemed to do what it pleases.

“I have heard that.” She affirms, wanting to go back to studying her rapidly stiff feeling fingers, or observing her skirt fluttering, but fearing it would be too impolite to look away from the woman while she clearly still thinks they are having a conversation.

The woman stares at her for a few moments, looking a mix of concerned and an emotion Homura cannot quite place.

“…Right… “She doesn’t stop staring, her dark brown eyes flitting around Homura’s body with increasing worry.

“...listen kid, uh, I don’t wanna- _uhg_. “She stops for a moment, muttering to herself, seemingly torn on what to say. Homura feels sympathy distantly- she used to have the same problem.

The woman sighs, and rubs a hand over her eyes before speaking.

“Do you, like, have somewhere you can go?” She asks, clearly trying to sound casual. Homura realizes this woman must think she’s homeless or a runaway of some sort- a reasonable assumption, seeing as she is sitting on a bench by herself in the middle of a storm, wearing somewhat torn clothing, with dark bags under her eyes. She also happens to look like a thirteen year old girl, a typically venerable member of society.

She decides this woman is probably a good person.

The woman begins to speak again and Homura realizes she has spent too long not responding. It’s unfortunate, but not too upsetting- this interaction is ultimately meaningless after all.

“Cus’, not to be like, creepy or anything- but I’ve got a spare room in my house, and like, I’ve been there y’know? So if you want, I mean- it’s free food and an okay place to stay right?” Homura watches the woman awkwardly explain her proposition, clearly trying not to come off as some sort of child predator. Homura doubts she is- from what she’s experienced they are almost always male, and tend to either study their victims a long time before they meet them, or impulsively attempt to assault them.

And even if she was Homura is not human, never mind a child, and would have little problem morally or physically dispatching such a criminal herself.

“You would do such a thing, with no clear benefit to yourself?” She questions, dully interested in the woman’s response. She rarely talks to adult civilians anymore, and has quite forgotten what the experience is like.

The woman looks slightly unnerved, but then seems to steel herself, nodding firmly.

“’Course kid, I ain't a monster.” She responds, slightly offended- and Homura thinks, well, that makes one of us.

* * *

She’s not sure why she followed the woman back to her apartment, let her get close enough to fuss over her blue tinged fingers and frozen skin- interest is no longer an excuse, things have gone too far. Perhaps it is apathy; perhaps she no longer cares what happens to her- especially in such a doomed timeline.

Regardless, the end result is that she is half-laid down on a couch, surrounded by an abundance of mismatched pillows and covered in multiple blankets. She has a bowl of soup in her hands and is cautiously sipping at the contents. Even though it tastes quite good she has to go slow, she does not each much these days, and not very often, and such a filling broth has a high chance of making her sick if she goes too fast.

It has been a long time since she had a home cooked meal- even the orphanage only served cheap packaged food, and the school cafeteria’s menu, while more expensive, is much the same.

It is nice. In some ways, it was worth it to extend her time here just for this experience she supposes- her mental health is not her biggest concern, but it must be managed with pleasant sensations every once and awhile.

The woman- whose name she learns is Kanna Saitō- seems to grow more and more distraught at every question Homura responds to truthfully.

So far she has been asked what she was doing in the storm (watching), when she last ate (a day ago), when she last slept (she lied and said two days prior, but that also seemed to be the wrong answer), where her parents were (dead), and if there was anyone looking for her (no).

She understands that just from those answers her life seems rather tragic, but even so Kanna-san seems to be excessively concerned about her health. It is very odd, and for a moment Homura contemplates explain to her that she’d been hurt much worse- chunks of building piercing through her gut, a bullet wound through the shoulder, burns all over her face, arm flattened into a pulp, spear separating the bones in her spine, legs crushed under a heavy wheel, ribs and side ripped out and eaten, choked by tight yellow ribbons, ears broken and bleeding under the screech of impossibly loud music, giant thorns imbedding themselves in her feet, beaten until her side was covered in bruises, and just once, hit by a very irresponsible truck driver.

She decides not to because it would needlessly upset Kanna-san, and seem unbelievable besides.


End file.
